Beds and Swords
by Daisy Brambleburr
Summary: Théoden comforts his niece after Éomer delivers some rather crushing words. A short vignette involving a young Éowyn.


Summary: Théoden comforts his niece after Éomer delivers some rather crushing words. A short vignette involving a young Éowyn.  
  
Authors note: In this vignette Éowyn is about 9. Therefor, Éomer is 13. I am aware that Théodred is quite a bit older than them but for the sake of the story I have made him just a few years older than Éomer. Many thanks to my proofreader who helped me alter the ending.   
  
Disclaimer: Basically, anything you recognise belongs to Tolkien. I don't own the Lord of the Rings.  
  
Beds and Swords  
  
Footsteps rang out through the halls of Edoras as a small figure with wild blonde hair and a blue gown that was slightly mussed around the edges hurtled down the passage. As she ran she bit her lip in a vain attempt to stop the tears spilling from her eyes. Grasping at her skirts to stop herself tripping, she flung herself around a corner with her head down and eyes blurred.   
  
But before she could move or change direction she collided straight into a rather unfortunate passer-by. She gasped in shock, and quickly wiped away the tell-tale tear stains from her cheeks. She lifted her head, ready to apologise, and saw the kindly face of her uncle Théoden looking down at her. She sniffed again, suddenly feeling rather ashamed of herself, and self-consciously brushed the dust from her gown. After seeing her grimy, damp face with unusually flushed cheeks and bright eyes, Théoden frowned and crouched down so that he was at eye level with his niece.   
  
"Éowyn, what is wrong?" he asked, a concerned expression showing on his face.   
  
Éowyn lowered her eyes, but feeling the gaze of her uncle upon her she reluctantly turned them to meet his. Setting her mouth she answered shortly: "Nothing," and resumed her staring at the floor.   
  
Théoden chuckled to himself at her stubborn air.   
  
"Come Éowyn. There cannot be nothing wrong if you insist on flying down the corridors at such a speed and nearly bowling your poor uncle over. Are you that interested in the flagstones?"   
  
Éowyn felt the corners of her mouth quirk in spite of herself.   
  
"Now," Théoden continued, putting a comforting arm around Éowyn's shoulders, "would you like to tell me about it?"   
  
Éowyn shifted uncomfortably. She could feel foolish, hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes at Théoden's kindly tone, and she wiped them away angrily. She hated crying in front of people, especially her uncle, whom she held in such high regard.   
  
Théoden sensed that she did not want to speak. Instead, he straightened up and held out his hand to Éowyn. She took it, looking up at him with sad eyes.   
  
"Come with me," he said. "You need to get cleaned up."   
  
Éowyn nodded in agreement. She was a little dirty. She had been outside with Éomer and Théodred before they... but she didn't want to think about that right now.   
  
Théoden lead her to a small side room with a water pump and a large, slab stone table set by the wall. He lifted up Éowyn, set her on the table and dampened a linen cloth with water from the pump. He handed the cloth to Éowyn, who wiped the dirt and tears away from her face. The water cooled her flushed cheeks and she felt her temper die down along with the heat. When she was finished, Théoden pulled himself up to sit beside her.   
  
"What happened?" he asked again. Éowyn took a deep breath and began her tale.   
  
"I was outside with Éomer and Théodred," Éowyn said. "They were playing at fighting, Théodred was teaching Éomer to fence with sticks. I so badly wanted to join in." She sniffed noisily and wiped her nose with her sleeve.   
  
"I went over and picked up a branch as well, but they wouldn't let me. They told me to go away." She grasped the cloth from where it lay and wrung it out distractedly, gripping tightly with her small fingers.   
  
"They said... they said that girls weren't supposed to fight. They said that I should go inside and cook and clean and...and make the beds," she continued, her voice growing faster and more panicky as she spoke, body shaking slightly, half with anger and half with grief.   
  
"They laughed at me; they said that I would never be able to fight." Éowyn paused, and turned her face to look at Théoden with large eyes. "Why can't I fight, Uncle?" she asked, a pleading tone in her voice. "Why do the men always go off with their horses and grand armour and the women stay at home?"   
  
Théoden sighed and put an arm around Éowyn's shoulders.   
  
"It's just the way it is," he answered simply.   
  
"Why does it have to be that way? I don't think it's a very good way," Éowyn retorted, her childish side showing through. Théoden paused, thinking of how the best way to explain. It was so hard to account for the way of life to a young child, especially to one like Éowyn who was headstrong and bold. One day she will understand, he told himself.   
  
"I know that's how it seems sometimes," he said finally. "But it is the way things have always been, and they will be like that for a long while yet."   
  
"I could be as good as any man," Éowyn said stubbornly. "I could cut my hair off. I could wear boys clothes like Éomer."   
  
Théoden smiled to himself at her determination. "You are just a girl Éowyn. It will be a long while yet before you would be old enough to fight, if you were a boy. And as for cutting off your hair, you will do no such thing!"   
  
Éowyn did not laugh. Her shoulders slumped, and he could tell that she felt defeated. He felt instantly guilty at delivering such crushing words.   
  
"I don't want to cook, Uncle. I truly don't want to have to clean up and do all the dull tasks that women have to do," she whispered quietly, her voice flat and her tone hopeless. Her shoulders shook, and Théoden knew that she was crying again. As he silently comforted her, not knowing what to say, an idea stirred in his mind and suddenly he stood up decisively. Éowyn started, and looked at him questioningly.   
  
"Come with me," he said by way of an explanation. She jumped from the table top and followed him from the room.   
  
"Where are we going?" she asked, hurrying to keep up with her uncle's strides.   
  
"To the armoury," he answered.   
  
The armoury? Éowyn thought. I'm not allowed there. Why are we going there?   
  
As she pondered, her uncle was pushing open a heavy door made of stained oak wood. He stood back and held it open for her. She tentatively walked inside with baited breath. Théoden followed, pulling the door noiselessly shut behind them. Éowyn lifted her head and looked about her. The sunlight from the high windows of the room shone inside and reflected off the silver blades of the weapons, making them glint invitingly. The dust flitted to and fro past the shafts of light, and to Éowyn it looked positively magical. She stared about the room with her mouth slightly open, standing silently in awe of the huge array of swords, helmets, shields and spears that were hanging majestically on the walls.   
  
"See, Éowyn?" Théoden said, moving over to stand beside her. "This is what the men use when they go to war. These weapons are all very dangerous. If they are used in the right way they can kill."   
  
Éowyn nodded, eyes wide and staring.   
  
"And sometimes the men who are our friends and comrades are killed by weapons like these. War is not a game, Éowyn, war is serious," he continued, his voice growing grave.   
  
Éowyn nodded again.   
  
"Do you still want to fight?"   
  
Éowyn stood still for a moment, thinking over her uncle's words. Even after what had just been said she still felt in her heart that she wanted to be a warrior. He palms seemed to itch for a sword's hilt, and she felt that she wanted to learn how to ride a horse and be a true fighter more than ever.   
  
"I do, Uncle," she answered.   
  
Théoden smiled at her and bundled her into a hug. "I felt that you would. I know that you're special, and one day you will prove yourself to me and Éomer, and, I'll warrant, to yourself."   
  
"And Éomer won't tease me again?"   
  
"No, he won't," Théoden answered earnestly. Then the somber note left his voice, and he smiled at her and said, "Run along now. Remember my words and one day you may get your own sword and steed and be as good a fighter as any man."   
  
Éowyn grinned back at him, her eyes bright and happy.   
  
"I will," she said. "I will be sure of it."   
  
"I am glad that you are happy," Théoden replied. "Dry your face and go outside and do not listen to any harsh words that your brother may speak."   
  
"No, I won't. Thank you, Uncle!" Éowyn cried, and with a last smile she turned on her heel and ran happily from the room. Her light footfalls echoed through the buildings, growing fainter and fainter until they faded away into silence. Théoden stood, fingering the blade of a sword thoughtfully. He was glad she was happy, and knew that he was right. He could sense that his niece was special and one day she would prove herself. He grasped the sword in his fist and held it out in front of him for a moment, then lowered the blade to the floor.   
  
"One day," he murmured to himself. He gently replaced the sword on the rack, pulled the door to and quietly walked away from the armoury.   
  
***   
  
Éowyn strode down the grassy bank to the spot where she had left Éomer and Théodred. She found them beneath the boughs of an old oak tree, playfully fencing with two fallen sticks. When they saw Éowyn approach, they stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. Although she bore a small smile Éomer could see that her eyes were red from crying. He instantly felt guilty for his earlier words.   
  
"I've come to learn how to fence," she said directly, bending over and grasping a small, dead branch from the ground.   
  
Éomer regarded her in a doubtful manner. "Éowyn, I'm not sure if you should be..."   
  
Éowyn ignored him and gave her branch an experimental swish. It made a whooshing noise as it cut through the air, an oddly satisfying sound, she thought.   
  
Théodred approached her, as if to gently convince her that she shouldn't really be fighting. Éowyn adjusted her grip, and gave the branch another swish through the air. Théodred, not sure of what his words should be, paused. Before he had a chance to speak Éowyn span around and he automatically blocked her wayward stroke with his own stick. With a strength that lay hidden in her small form she moved her arm and was able to force his branch back away from hers. Théodred, taken aback by her sudden movement, stumbled backwards and then regarded her with a mixture of admiration and surprise on his face.   
  
"See?" Éowyn said triumphantly. "I can be as good as any man at fighting. I know it's not proper or right, but I am determined to do my best. Some day I will be a wonderful fighter. A shield maiden," she continued, a dream like expression crossing her face as she thought of what was to come.   
  
Éomer smiled as she finished her speech. "Perhaps, sister," he replied. "But you have a lot to learn before then, and I can teach you. Determination will not get you everywhere. When I am done you will be one of the best warriors in the land."   
  
"Yes, but only one of the best," Théodred butted in playfully. "I, of course, intend to be the very finest."   
  
Éowyn and Éomer both laughed at his forthright manner. Then, without talking, they continued their game. And although her face was determind, inside Éowyn felt rather lighthearted. Her uncle had encouraged her, her brother had accepted her and she would never again have to dread a future spent making other people's beds.  
  
-*- 


End file.
